loss to bring to destruction, to suffer
by itsasham
Summary: He doesn't remember, and he can hear them behind him, shouting things he can't make sense of, so he runs. (8/26 - temp. hiatus until I can get this figured out again. I'm so, so, sorry.)
1. he tells me to run

AN: A few friendly warnings before you start reading: this fic contains mentions of past rape/non-con, torture, captivity, and pretty much every other horrible thing I can do to these characters. This is dark, and may not have a happy, fluffy ending.

Which leads me to my second warning: this is a work in progress, which I don't have the greatest track record of being timely in my posting with. I am a busy human being, and have a lot on my plate. The story will be finished, I just can't guarantee when.

And with that, enjoy! Let me know what you think :) (also looking for a beta if anyone is interested.)

* * *

His hands shake, his feet, _legs_ , shake. There's pounding in his skull, and he can't catch his breath, exhaustion settling deep within him. He's running. He's been running for a long time, ever since the familiar voice in his head told him _Run, flee._ He's not really sure where, direction and destination meaningless to him. Just away from _Them._

 _Them_ with their hands pulling and taking things from his head without permission. Hurting and poking and sticking him with needles until he couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't _breathe_. Strapping him to tables and asking questions and hurting, hurting, hurting. Stripping everything away bit by bit by bit. Until there was nothing left and all he had were questions, as he was laying on the beach - because he wasn't unconscious, he knows that, he just wasn't _aware -_ not sure how he got there, or where he came from. Sand digging into his face, surf washing the too - loose pants around his waist and ankles. He doesn't remember being this thin, but he doesn't remember a lot of things.

—

As he runs, he struggles to keep the pants up with his wrists cuffed together. They're like prison shackles, chaining his hands in front of his stomach, chain leading around his jutting hipbones and down to his ankles, restricting his stride. His feet are bare and they sting and burn and throb as he stumbles across the hot sand. He doesn't care.

His neck burns and his stomach twists and rolls and he knows, _knows_ , that they stuck him with something recently. Is he dreaming? Is this just a dream of his impossible escape? Are they just going to come and take, take, take again? He wishes The Voice would come back, The Voice in his head instructing him where his scattered thoughts fail. Sometimes it called him _animal,_ and _neanderthal._ No matter what _They_ did they could never take The Voice away, not that he told Them (he knew the consequences of talking without being directly spoken to, he was smarter than that). But The Voice was comforting, safe, familiar. It seemed to know things about him that even he didn't know, couldn't find no matter how hard he tried, how hard he tried to force his brain back, back to _something_ as safe and soothing as The Voice. He had started to think of it as his friend, his savior that would one day come and chase Them away and bring him to The Safe Place that he sees in his dreams. Find him and carry him away from _this,_ whatever this is. The Voice knew everything, it could tell him what to do. Unless They finally chased it away, took it and forced it out like everything else.

—

He started running along a dash of sand between trees and ocean, and somehow he knows it's on the North side of Oahu Island. Maybe Turtle Bay? He doesn't know how he knows this, doesn't know how long his legs and lungs have burned with an unholy agony, but he can finally hear people.

—

He slows his pace to a walk as he enters something his subconscious tells him is called Tent City. Information, images, and funny, fuzzy pieces of something ( _memories?_ ) flit through his battered brain. The most constant fuzzy piece, the most loud blaring of them all, tells him to _stay alert. Assess threat levels. Maintain situational awareness. Trust no one._ It's not the same as The Voice. He stays on the edge of the "City", skirting away from what appears to be a gathering area, people, children, adults, the elderly; milling around, chatting, playing soccer.

 _Find a place, hide - rest, ride out the drugs once they really kick in._ The Voice, it…. it came back! He almost wants to smile, but he isn't supposed to make that face anymore.

He burrows under a discarded mattress, curls into a ball, hidden in the shade behind a bush. Tries to force his eyes to stay open. _You're safe. Relax, get your strength back._ The Voice is soothing, like a warm blanket, wrapping around him, holding him together, protecting him as he succumbs to darkness.

—

"Mama! Mama!"

The small child races to her.

"Mama! There's a man in the bushes! Our ball went there and scared him and he won't come out, he has chains on him like bad guys after the police get them!"

The woman frowns. Her son has always had the most vivid of imaginations.

She follows him anyway.

—

"Ben! Hey Ben!" He startles awake to someone shaking his shoulder. Listens as the woman explains about the children finding a man in the bushes.

"You have the cop friend right?"

"Yeah, sure, I can call her, let me check it out."

He jumps when he sees the guy, his skin and bones, tattered, filthy cargo pants, body scarred and bruised. He knows he looks familiar, the tattoos on his biceps reminding him of someone. His face is obscured by a bushy, unkempt beard. Hair shaved in some spots, long and patchy in others, growing unevenly. There is blood on the back of his neck, the rest of it concealed under a padlocked metal _dog collar,_ which makes Ben cringe _._ He reeks of sea water and grime and bodily fluids when Ben gently, so gently places his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Hey brah? You okay?"

The man jumps, flinches away with a gasp, arms instinctively jerk upward to protect until the chain stops him. His eyes widen in fear as he scurries out of Ben's reach until he slams into the base of a tree.

Ben recognizes that face, even under the dirt and grime. Anyone would, because for six months that face was plastered everywhere after his sudden and unprovoked disappearance. A huge reward was offered for any information leading to his return, the reward growing as money was donated by the families he had helped. The face is still everywhere, the money still available. He had seen what his vanishing had done to his team, his family. Seen their haggard, weary, faces on TV, determination undermined with fear as they pleaded for anyone to _"please call the hotline number at the bottom of your screen if you have any information, the State of Hawaii will thank you."_

 _Oh, shit._ He dials the number so fast his hand hurts.

"Yeah, hey Kono, I'm sorry, I know it's probably not a good time. Uh… I'm not sure how to say this, I…., I think I found him. I think I found Commander McGarrett."


	2. he tells me his name is danny

The long awaited second chapter! Thank you for being so patient with me guys :)

* * *

His head still hurts, even more now that the sun is up, so bright that his eyes can't adjust to it, and now there is someone watching him, sitting just outside of his reach. He knows he can't outrun him, but he doesn't think the man is one of Them. He had his chance to grab him and drag him back, but all he did was _touch_ him, which seems almost as bad. No, the man just sits there, arms relaxed, feet crossed at the ankles, he chatters on, his tone calming and nonthreatening, but he just mostly tunes him out. He thinks he said his name was Ben, no Brian? Something like that. His brain can't seem to hold on to anything now.

He says his friends are coming, but he doesn't remember friends (the thought tickles the back of his brain; golden brown hair, bright laughing smile, wise eyes. _friends?_ ). The idea scares him, some of Them had called themselves his friends, but he doesn't think real friends do the things they did. He pulls his knees closer to his chest, willing his body to stop shaking.

It doesn't work.

—

The man, Ben, he has decided, calls out to someone, directing them over to where they are sitting. He tenses and rises into a crouch, standing when he sees the tall black man. He's wary, nerves and body alert, taking in the new man's stance, expression. _Threat. One of them_. He decides. The man approaches, reaching out, there's something in his hand and all he can think is _drugs. He's one of Them, here to take you back. Here to take, take, take._ He doesn't know what to do, The Voice is quiet. He's scared, he won't go back _no no no._ In a panic he grabs the man's hand when it gets close enough, jerking the whole body forward. His lungs burn, struggling to draw in air, to keep up. _drugs working no no faster faster faster._ He slams his head in to the man's face, knocking him off his feet. He falls with him, and sees the gun in the holster, reaches and grabs it, shuffling back to the tree. Ben has scrambled away, and is talking again, but all the man can focus on is the other three figures running over.

His breathing is harsh, his skull pounds, sending pulses of pain away from his forehead. His body shakes so violently he knows he couldn't fire the gun accurately if his life depended on it. He's coughing now, his lungs sore and heavy, distracting him ( _focus. you're used to this get away get away)_. He's acutely aware that the drugs should be kicking in full force, surprised they have rendered him helpless yet.

One of the figures starts talking, and he hesitates, he knows that voice. That's _The Voice_. The Voice in his head, only now it's not in his head. It's coming from him, the short blonde one, his hands are slowly pulling the hostler off his belt, dropping it on the ground to be scooped up by the woman. He glances at the flash of metal that was dropped with it (a police badge, his brain says) but all he can focus on is The Voice. _That Voice._

He realizes belatedly he must have lost focus for a second, because all of the sudden the man is touching him and _he can't think_. The gun is gently pried from his fingers but the hand on his wrist isn't moving, its just holding him and all he can think is _They are here The Voice was always Them and no no no no i wont go back_. He thinks he said the last part out loud because The Voice keeps talking and becomes soothing, _No Steve it's okay calm down please Steve it's okay._ But all he can hear is _Steve_ and no, he remembers that now, saying that name and what happened after, (hot, hot, hot stuff inside his mouth and down his throat and down, down, down until he was sick and again and again and again) and _no no no i'm sorry not steve i didn't mean to i'm sorry._

He's fighting again, shoving the man with The Voice and golden hair away as he says more things, until _no, no, no_ the drugs kick in, harder than they had been before. His vision blurs as his stomach revolts, heaving nothing but burning stomach acid up his throat. He knows it's going to happen, but it still scares the shit out of him when every muscle in his arms and legs lock up, still manages a scream before the poison burning, ripping through his body forces him under.

—

Danny tries not to scream, cry, hit things, as he carries, and gently, so carefully, rests Steve's body - _he's alive, he's alive, he's alive -_ onto the stretcher. Can't focus his gaze on the scarred and beaten form of his friend, his best friend who's _not dead, not dead, not dead_. Steve's been gone for a year, and he wanted him back, but not like this, not like this, not _destroyed_.

He's vomiting into the sand before he realizes he's stepped back. Chin's hand is on his back.

"He'll be okay, Danny, he'll be okay." Chin's voice lacks it's normal certainty, the crisp edge of wisdom, and Danny know's even he isn't sure of his words.

—

When he wakes up, he is strapped to something hard and all he think is _stupid stupid stupid you should have run should have known it was them now they have you again stupid stupid stupid_. He throws his head off the hardness behind him, trying to sit up, fight. A hand lands on his chest, and he jerks as much as the tight straps across his body allow. _No no no no no you can't have me again i wont cooperate ill fight and fight and i will never stop._

"No, hey calm down it's okay. No one is going to hurt you."

That Voice. _The Voice_.

"W-who are you?" He asks, making wary eye contact with the blonde haired man from before.

Pain and shock flash across his face briefly, but he quickly hides it with a small, but still forced smile.

"Danny. I'm Danny. You don't remember me?" His, _no Danny's_ , voice is choked, even with the sad smile.

He shakes his head. He remembers saying the name, memory muddled by time and drugs and pain, _Danny and the team will find me, you bastards. You will never get away with this._ (Remembers going hungry for weeks after, the repeated beatings until he couldn't stand). _Them_ laughing and taunting, _you sure your precious Ohana is gonna come save you?_

He's still shaking his head, saying _no no no no_ again. Trying to force Them out. The hand is firmer on his chest, pressing down now.

"It's okay, calm down. No one here is going to hurt you."

Another hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back down.

"You're safe okay? I promise you, you're not going back, no one is going to hurt you."

The hand stays gently on his chest as more people (EMT's, his brain says) load him into an ambulance. The hand doesn't hurt or hold like the other hands have, doesn't make his heart race in panic at it's contact. It's comforting, reassuring as The Voi- Danny, as _Danny,_ talks endlessly. He doesn't even pay attention to the words, body jumping and flinching at every touch. The chains are gone, and his wrists and ankles are carefully wrapped in white bandages. His collar is still there, but he's fine with that. He hates the collar, but worse things happen when it comes off.

He passes out at some point, but he doesn't feel panicked anymore.

—

Danny watches as the firemen carefully remove the collar from Steve's neck, heavy duty tools easily snapping through the metal where the bolt cutters Lou had brought had broken on it.

Anger and hatred burn hot through his veins, squeezing at his chest when he sees the scarred, bruised, broken skin underneath it. Guilt flaring at himself because Five-O couldn't find him, had mostly given up until Ben Bass's five am wake up call. Steve's neck matches the rest of his body, Danny's brain all to eagerly informing him what likely caused each scar, each bruise or burn.

He nods to the man, thanking him for meeting them at the hospital, quickly forcing those thoughts out of his head as he follows the stretcher down the halls to a private room, doctors and nurses already waiting. They quickly usher him out, escorting him to a waiting room. Danny doesn't like it, but he knows he is no help in there.

He waits, texting back and forth with the team.

 _Followed tracks to the ocean. Likely Steve swam ashore from a boat, lines up with reports of a half naked man running along the beach early AM._

He responds to Kono, informing her that Steve had passed out in the ambulance (which the EMT's had assured him was okay, that he was probably exhausted from his ordeal and probably sleep deprived, but in no world will Danny Williams find Steve collapsing on the ground and _seizing,_ passing out, and then passing out again later _okay)_ (the EMT's probably weren't talking about the first part, but still) but was being examined and should be in a room soon.

 _Okay, scene has been cleared and everything is being taken back to HQ for processing. Let us know when you hear anything._

He doesn't respond, waiting until the Doctor returns several hours later. He feels numb, like this isn't really happening as the doctor explains everything, focusing on the words like _brutally and viciously tortured, possible experimentation, system overrun with drugs, severe infections throughout his body, medically induced coma, rape kit -_

"Wait, what? Rape kit?"

"Yes, we suspected it, and did find signs of anal scarring as well as recent tearing."

"So you're saying he was -" Danny inhales sharply, refusing to even think _it_.

"Yes, in all likelihood the Commander was raped multiple times."

Danny rubs his hand across his forehead, pinches the bridge of nose.

"Is there anything else? When can I see him?"

"He's being put under now, a nurse will escort you to his room when you can. There is nothing else now, is your number in his file if we need to contact you for any reason?"

Danny nods, remembering the day Steve had hesitantly asked if he could add Danny's number as his emergency contact.

—

It's twenty minutes later when a tired looking nurse comes out. She looks new, fairly young as she refers to a clip board.

"Mr. Williams?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Right this way."

He silently follows, standing in the doorway to Steve's room and just staring until he finds the courage to enter, sitting in the chair already positioned by the bed. He rests his arms and head on the soft blanket covering Steve's comatose form, trying to hold everything together as the last year of worry, anxiety, and panic overwhelm him. Danny eventually lets the tears stream down his face because it's finally over; Steve's alive, Steve's back; but he knows it's only just the beginning of a very long road.


	3. he tells me i'm safe

Thank you for everyone being so patient and sticking with this! I'm so terribly sorry it took me this long to update, RL has been hectic and my part time job turned into a full time 80 hours a week job (and I love my job, it's just not what I was expecting when I signed up for it and completely exhausting). With that said, this story is a blast to write and I can't wait to finish it :) (what does that say about me that's its _fun_ to do this to Steve and Danny?)

Comments are greatly appreciated (and like motivation cookies (?) for writers!) and the response for this has honestly blown me away. Thank you guys so much!

* * *

They never knew when exactly Steve disappeared, besides somewhere between Friday night and Monday morning. The file on his disappearance remaining furiously thin until the Navy finally, _finally_ admitted that Steve had been flying to Washington Friday night to testify in the Court Martial of a former SEAL - Dave O'Connell - who was suspected of joining a terrorist cell. The Navy had been hesitant, but they also revealed that Steve had been their main witness, and that O'Connell had escaped custody.

From there it was easy to track the chartered flight into Hawaii that O'Connell had taken, and then the same flight out early Saturday morning. They never found O'Connell, or any proof that he had taken Steve.

Danny studies the file, however empty it may be - regardless of the fact that he memorized it several months ago - in the days following Steve's reappearance. He adds the new information, commits it to memory easily. Then he waits.

He's been waiting for three days, ever since the doctors told him it was necessary to put Steve in a medically induced coma to allow his body to heal and recover. He doesn't let himself think about all the conversations he's had with the doctors since then, or the scars telling him the stories of what Steve been through - the long thin scars of a whip, twin dots of a cattle prod, burns marring his skin, hand shaped bruises on his hips, circular bite marks on his back, neck, around his nipples. _Don't go there. Don't go there._

The doctors tell him that the seizures were a side effect from the sheer amount of drugs in his system, and now that everything is pumped out - they should stop. _Should._ Really though, the doctors don't say much, not least not since Danny punched the one who said that it was unlikely Steve would survive, much less recover.

Danny doesn't think much, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Steve's chest, responding to Lou, Chin and Kono's few updates, and making small talk when they come. At some point Abby returns, taking a silent seat and staying until the nurses make her leave.

They don't make Danny leave, silently regarding the cot in the corner with annoyance. But they never make him leave. They tried to at first, threatening to call the cops even ( _I am a cop, and I'm not leaving. He's my partner!)_ , but Danny thinks the Governor took care of it. It doesn't really matter to him, Steve. Just Steve. That's what's important.

When he wakes up he's scared. The echo of pain is familiar, comforting, but everything else is confusing. The smell is clean and fresh, light peeking through his eyelids, skin surrounded by softness. He's not used to waking up slowly, _They_ forced him awake with punches and kicks, needles jabbing into his skin. _Things_ shoving _in in in_ into his mouth, his bottom.

There's voices nearby, talking softly. He can't make out what they're saying, but he wants to run.

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes though is a large man with dark hair. The man isn't looking, but he terrifies him. The man looks like _Them_ with the same dark skin, almond eyes. Large hands to hit hit hit.

When the man looks at him - surprise and happiness in his eyes - he runs, propelling himself off of the bed (been so long. so soft). He feels a tearing in his arm and the man is shouting something, but he's not paying attention. He sees the corner of the room ( _safer, safer, safer_ ) and pushes his body into it, tucking his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His body is shaking, trembling with fear.

There are more voices now, but he still ignores them, hiding his face in his legs and whispering _leave me alone don't hurt me just go away don't hurt me don't hurt me don't hurt me._

He knows he's begging, knows They don't like it when he begs, knows They never listened. Also knows the door is blocked and he can't fight and escape again, has no other option.

He realizes someone is crouching in front of him the same time he realizes the collar around his neck is gone. _No no no no_. He knows what happens when the collar comes off, knows it will be ten times worse then whatever punishment they will give him for escaping.

His plea's immediately change to _im sorry, im sorry, im sorry, i didnt mean to, no water, please im sorry, no water, no water please._

"Hey. Hey. Babe? I need you to calm down okay? No one is here now but me, it's just me and I'm not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you again Steve. I promise okay?"

That voice. The voice. _Danny_ , he remembers from the beach. Flinching away from 'Steve' (knows that name means pain, remembers the interrogations ( _what is your name?_ ) until he couldn't stand the pain of saying it anymore) but _Danny Danny Danny_.

"Alright, babe? You with me? Here's what we're going to do, I'm going to count and on three I'm going to inhale, then exhale, can you breathe with me?"

He thinks he most nod.

He doesn't know how long it takes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Danny counting, talking nonsense, breathing with him until his heart rate slows and his trembling all but stops.

Danny's not touching him he notices, sitting with one leg stretched out in front of him with the other bent. Body facing his, but not touching.

"Do you know where you are?"

He doesn't move from his position. He doesn't know the man in front of him. He knows his voice, remembers every time that voice comforted him, soothed him and kept him sane; but he doesn't know this man. Master? Savior? What does this man want from him? Silence? Obedience?

"You're in a hospital Steve, back in Honolulu. It's been a year since you went missing, but you're safe now okay? They can't hurt you anymore."

He looks up now, meeting the eyes of the blonde man from the beach. _Friend. Friend. Friend_. His brain says. From before, before. Before what? He doesn't remember Before. That's what The Voice had done. Danny? Will Danny help him now?

"Danno?" It's a question, not a statement. Voice cracked and broken, memory fleeting, flickering at the edges of his subconscious. _Book em' Danno_. It's patchy, blurred, but he can see the glare he was given in return. _How many times have I told you not to call me that?_

The face in front of him breaks into a grin, a full grin as warm, comforting arms wrap around him. The hug doesn't trap and panic, and he leans into it, nestling his face into the shirt collar, the neck, in front of him. He is overwhelmed with the smell of Danny, wrapping around him saying _safe. safe. safe_. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he lets his arms hang by his sides, unsure.

"Yeah, babe, its me."


End file.
